


Interlude

by kwsni



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Dean Being an Idiot, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 09:04:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2462522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kwsni/pseuds/kwsni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel can't sleep, Dean has the self-esteem of a dung beetle, Sam sees more than he lets on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interlude

**Author's Note:**

> Goes off canon after 8x22.

Castiel can't sleep. He and the Winchesters have just returned from a hunt in which his shoulder was dislocated, and the pain and the adrenaline are keeping him awake.        

Sam and Dean coerced him to stay in bed until he finished his book, with the apparent reasoning that their painkillers and the reading would be enough to put him to sleep. It has worked before.  
         
Castiel is not sure what is different this time, but he finds himself wide awake in a darkened bunker in the middle of the night. He leaves his room quietly, not wanting to wake Dean, across the hall, or Sam, who has chosen a room closer to the library.

The cold tiles absorb most of the noise his bare feet make on them, leaving only a whisper of footfalls, the sound like walking on forest loam. He is headed to the kitchen, hungry despite the late hour. He still does not fully understand the brothers' keeping of regular meals, since so much of their work needs to be done in the middle of the night. Castiel is always hungry after a hunt, no matter what time it is. The three of them have taken to decompressing in a late night diner, where Dean generally consumes enormous quantities of pie.  
                
The latest one had banana cream pie, and among them, they had eaten two. Castiel enjoyed the pie, it was sweet, smooth, cold, and tasted like tropical islands undiscovered.  
         
He had enjoyed Dean's pleasure in it more the the pie, though.         
         
There is still a light on in the library, Castiel turns to switch it off, but halts, transfixed, in the doorway. The light is a lamp that rests on a side table between the couch and armchairs the Winchesters have filled one corner of the library with. Dean is asleep on the couch, his hair gilded with backlight, a book open on his chest. The tension of the trials and the fall of the angels has been slowly fading from his face these last few weeks.  The deep, guarded hardness has not, but Castiel cannot blame him for that, since he put much of it there himself.  
                
Here, though, is Dean, completely unguarded. His face is quiet, peaceful, mouth slightly open, and green eyes shuddered. Dean looks like the boy he never was, no cares or worries to hinder him, no brother or world to protect. Castiel thinks that Michael was right to choose Dean for a vessel.  If Dean was ever in this state when he was awake, his power and beauty would be unstoppable. He could move mountains with a smile. Castiel wonders if having a place to come back to, a home, has made the difference. Castiel is suddenly out of breath, and he is not sure why. He has watched Dean sleep before.  Many times he stood guard over both brothers to keep them safe. Once, not so long ago, he had watched over Dean in simple wonder and joy in his fortune, that fate or God had given him yet another chance, that he could speak with Dean freely without having to guard his words for other ears.   
                
While Castiel has been staring, a dream has marred Dean's perfect relaxation. His hands clench reflexively, a frown creases across his forehead. Castiel hesitates. Should he go in, wake Dean, and make him move to his bed? The hunter will surely complain of a sore neck tomorrow. Or should he slip away to the kitchen and leave his friend in peace?   
                
Castiel is poised to leave when Dean begins to talk in his sleep, mumbling half- formed syllables. Dean's muscles twitch, Castiel wonders what he is dreaming about.   
         
"Ca--" Castiel holds his breath. Dean's dream becomes more violent, arms and legs making aborted fighting gestures. Then-- "No!"   
         
A hand lands on Castiel's shoulder, making him jump. Sam is standing behind him, red eyed and sleep-mussed.  He tilts his chin at Dean, in the library.  
                
"You should go in there. You scared him today." The pain of the dislocation had taken Castiel by surprise, he had dropped to his knees, his guard down, nearly unconscious. Dean had dispatched the monster handily, but had fussed over Castiel, concerned, until he recovered.  
         
"What should I say?"  
         
Sam runs one hand down his face. "Anything." He gives Castiel a little shove through the door. Castiel takes a second step, and it feels like approaching a precipice.   
            
He doesn't know what he will do, but he will not leave Dean to endure a nightmare alone.  
        
Standing at Dean's side, looking down at him, off the edge of the cliff, Castiel pauses again. Dean's face has gone sad, crushed and crumpled like paper washed down the drain. A word escapes his lips, barely a whisper, but it could be Castiel's name, and that is enough to get Castiel moving again.  
       
Castiel kneels, and puts a gentle hand to Dean's face, as he used to. "Dean, wake up.  It's only a dream. I'm here." The hunter's skin is warm and soft beneath his fingers, and Castiel wishes he could stay like this forever.  
     
Dean winces, groans, opens his eyes. "Cas? I was dreaming." He says in a voice full of sleep and un-shed tears.  
     
"It was a nightmare, Dean." Castiel tells him, withdrawing his hand. The crow's feet around Dean's eyes have returned,  he aches to smooth them away.  
     
Dean rubs one hand over his face. "Yeah, I- I got that. You're up, you okay?"  
     
"I was hungry and couldn't sleep. I saw the light."  
     
Dean tilts his head back to squint at it. "M'k. Can I go back to sleep now?"  
    
"Perhaps your bed would be better. Your neck will ache in the morning."

Dean groans again. "I hate it when you're right."

Dean sits up, and without thinking Castiel offers him a hand to stand. He realizes as Dean grips Castiel's forearm that perhaps he should have offered him the other hand. The pain in his recently dislocated shoulder nearly brings him to his knees a second time as Dean uses it as support. Castiel manages to stay standing, but Dean notices his legs buckle.

"Jesus, man! Don't use that arm." He grips both of Castiel's shoulders until he is steady on his feet again.

Castiel bites his lip. "I'm alright, Dean."

"You sure? You were pretty green a second ago." Dean peers closely into Castiel's eyes.

"The pain was...unexpected."

"Yeah, it happens like that, sometimes, when you pop your shoulder out. Doesn't really hurt til you try to use it. You need another painkiller?" Dean is still holding onto Castiel's shoulders, but Castiel is reluctant to mention it.

"No, I am fine."

Dean's face is sad, quiet, and he looks down at their feet, Castiel's bare, Dean's in the heavy socks he favors. Something is wrong, but Castiel cannot fathom what it is. Did they not have a successful hunt today, with minimal injuries? Did they not enjoy the pie? What could be bothering him?

"Cas, can I ask you a question?"

Castiel smiles, and doesn't mention that he already has. "Yes, of course. " Dean's hands clench around Castiel's shoulders. A lump forms in Castiel's throat. "Dean, what is it?"

Dean shuffles his feet, bites his lip. "Are you-- Jesus, Cas, I can't believe I'm asking this." He takes one hand from Castiel's shoulders and rubs the back of his own neck with it. "Are you happy? Here in the bunker, hunting with me and Sam?" Dean finally looks up, his expression both guarded and hopeful at the same time. 

Castiel wants to laugh until his sides hurt, and jump up and down, and wrap his arms around Dean, and possibly never let him go. Dean has finally opened up about something, anything, and this is what he chooses? This conversation will take careful handling, so Dean isn't scared off, so Castiel doesn't do any of these things.  Castiel puts one hand to Dean's face; for once Dean doesn't skate away from the contact. They stand there touching for a moment, Dean's hand on Castiel's shoulder, Castiel's on Dean's face, while Castiel considers what to say. He resists the urge to wrap himself around Dean, just to see how much of their bodies could touch at once.

Dean shifts his weight, uncomfortable, before Castiel has thought of anything. "It's fine-- I just-- that dream, you know, and then you were right there, and--"

Castiel sees a way to approach the topic sideways, and takes it. "What did you dream?"

Dean shrugs, and breaks contact; Castiel lets him go, though he doesn't want to. "Nothing, it's just dumb." 

"Tell me."

Dean rubs one eye, another unconscious gesture of embarrassment. Castiel waits. Dean can only be pushed so far, before he will deflect, repress, diminish. 

"You left. We had a fight, not about the dishes or the laundry, a big one. Knock-down, drag out shit. I don't even remember about what, but I guess dreams are like that. You said this was never what you wanted, that you'd go back home to heaven if you could." Dean's voice gets quieter and quieter as he says this.

Castiel considers this revelation, but decides that it doesn't change what he wishes to say. He sits down, carefully, on the couch. Dean settles beside him, the fabric of their jeans touching, but nothing else. "If you had asked me that question when I first became human,  I would have told you no. I missed my grace, the connection I had with my brothers in heaven,  the distance from my vessel I enjoyed as an angel. Even a few months ago, I don't know that I could have given you an answer."

Dean's expression has been closing off as Castiel speaks, the corners of his lips drawing in and down until his full mouth is nothing more than a thin white line. There is only one way to get through Dean Winchester's defenses, and that is to let him build them up as strong as they will go before knocking them down. Dean's own belief that no one is interested in him for his own sake is one that needs knocking down again and again. 

"Look, man, if you want to go--"

Castiel rolls his eyes, and puts two fingers to Dean's mouth. "Don't you think I would have already? That I am so helpless that I couldn't make a life for myself  that didn't involve hunting? I have done it before."

Dean's lips twitch against Castiel's fingers, but he says nothing.

"The connection I shared with heaven was far reaching, all encompassing. It was beyond connection, it was light and life. No words in your language could possibly describe it. I am not sure there is a language that can."

Dean is looking down at his hands, clenched together in his lap. Castiel places his hands on Dean's, to catch his attention. Dean's eyes are wet when he meets Castiel's. Castiel's heart aches for Dean, who is always convinced everyone would rather be somewhere else. "The connection I feel with you and Sam; Charlie, when she stops in; Garth and Kevin- Dean, I can't think of anything more important. I have found more peace and contentment here than I did in thousands of years as an angel. In heaven I was a soldier, I had orders; here I am a man, and I have a purpose. I cannot explain to you what that means to me."

Dean draws in a shuddering breath, and lets it out in a rush. Castiel realizes that this is the closest Dean can come to asking him to stay, to be a part of their family forever. He squeezes Dean's hands. "There is nowhere I would rather be, than here with you."

Dean makes a strangled noise, and buries his face in his hands. Castiel is baffled. Didn't he say what Dean had wanted to hear? He had thought--when he was an angel, he could always see that his sudden disappearances made Dean upset. He had thought that Dean would feel the same way, even though he was no longer an angel. 

Castiel moves to sit on the coffee table, across from Dean, and rests his forehead against Dean's bowed head. Their knees knock together, but Dean doesn't uncover his face. It seems that Castiel is drawn to touching him tonight, After the first touch of Dean's skin, he can't seem to stop himself. "I am sorry, Dean, I seem to have said something you didn't want to hear."

Dean snorts into his hands, but does not say anything. Dean does nothing for several moments, and Castiel is about to stand and leave, when a soft footfall from the doorway makes him look up. Sam is standing there with a glass of water, and an expression too complex for Castiel to read on his expressive face. He notices Castiel looking, and gives him a half smile and a wink, then continues down the hall. Dean still has not moved, and Castiel is uncertain how to interpret the entire interaction. 

Sam's voice comes booming back down to them from his room. "It's three am. Go to bed, you morons!"

Dean lifts his head, laughing, but the sound is wet, like there are still tears caught in his throat. 

"It's not that you said something wrong, Cas, it's that I never expected to hear it. "

Suddenly, Castiel is done. Done with Dean Winchester and his self-loathing, his destructive streak, done waiting for him to make the first move. He knows Dean loves him, has known for years, but was happy letting their relationship develop at it's own pace.  Castiel realizes now that Dean would have left the entire question in limbo, possibly forever, and that he is unwilling to allow that to happen. Castiel decides to make his intentions perfectly clear.

He surges into Dean's lap, kissing him fiercely. Dean's lips are soft, and taste faintly of bananas, whiskey, and coffee. Dean's eyes widen, his hands struggle for grip on Castiel's shirt, but he soon relaxes into the kiss.

When Castiel pulls away, Dean's eyes crinkle at the corners, and a smile is playing around his lips.

"I love you, Dean Winchester."

Dean laughs again, lighter this time, but no less sad. "I know, Cas, I know. But--"

Castiel stops Dean from talking with another kiss. He will explain later, how important Dean is, how beautiful, how his sacrifices don't drag him down, as he thinks they do, but lift him up. How there is nothing Dean can do that Castiel will not accept. Castiel curls his hands into Dean's hair, Dean's slide down to pull Castiel closer. 

Castiel feels lit up, like he used to, when he used his grace to intimidate or make a point. His skin feels like a thing apart from him, pleasurably warm and infinitely sensitive. Each time Dean moves even the slightest amount, it sends goosebumps up Castiel's arms.

Dean frames Castiel's face with his hands, and pulls slightly away, but not far enough that his breath doesn't still puff across Castiel's lips. Dean is breathing hard, and Castiel is concerned, until he realizes that he is as well. Dean's eyes are aglow, mouth pink. Castiel cannot believe he waited so long.

Dean blinks lazily, like he has possibly forgotten how. Castiel smiles, and lightly presses his lips to Dean's . Dean pushes him away again, studying Castiel's face intently. "You're staying."

"I'm staying, Dean. For as long as you'll have me."

"Ok." Dean looks at him like he is a treasure, a wonder. "Forever. How does forever sound?"

"Good." Castiel says,   
   
A grin blooms across Dean's face, one Castiel has never seen, full of complete, unrestrained happiness. Castiel loves this grin, loves it like he loves Dean's scowl, like he loves his little smiles to himself when he finds one of his own jokes funny. He cannot resist kissing it. 

He climbs out of Dean's lap, pulls him up, and kisses him again, before moving them out of the library. Dean steers them towards his room, but presses Castiel against the wall on their way, his tongue so far in Castiel's mouth he wonders if he will ever taste anything else again. They stumble down the hall, careening off of walls and through doorways, unwilling to leave even a few inches between them. When they make it to Dean's room, the backs of Castiel's knees hit the bed, and he sits down. He smiles up at Dean.

"Jesus, Cas, you can't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like...like I'm the only thing in the world."

Castiel can't come up with an answer for that, just runs his hands up Dean's forearms, and tugs him down into Castiel's lap. Dean comes willingly, but awkwardly, with more hesitation than he has shown thus far. Castiel pauses, his fingertips brushing the skin of Dean's hips under the hem of his shirt.  Dean is chewing his lip again, and there's fear in his eyes. 

"Dean?"

Dean runs his hands up Castiel's sides, broad hands splayed over Castiel's back. Castiel shivers, but is more concerned about Dean than his own pleasure. 

"Cas, I—" Dean shudders, and rests his forehead on Castiel's clavicle. His hands twist and Clutch at castiel's shirt. Castiel's concern ratchets up to alarm,  he runs his hand over Dean's back and sides, checking for injuries, anything that might explain Dean's distress.

"What's wrong?"  
   
Dean's head bounces against Castiel's collarbone as he shakes his head. A pit opens in Castiel's stomach, full of writhing snakes and fathomless depths. Any moment now, Dean will pull himself together, and Castiel will have lost him, possibly for good. He takes advantage of the time he has left, by pulling Dean closer, so they're chest-to-chest. Castiel can feel Dean's heart, pounding just as hard as his own.

Dean swallows, and Castiel closes his eyes, tries to memorize the feeling of Dean's arms wrapped so tightly around him. 

"I don't— you're not— Cas, you know I think you're awesome, right?" Dean says into the crook of Castiel's shoulder.

"Yes, Dean."

"I'm just– Christ, I'm such a mess, Cas."  
   
Castiel pulls back, enough to meet Dean's eyes, but does not say anything. Dean takes a shaky breath.

Of course. Dean seduces women with ease, even men on occasion, but his relationships, when he has them, do not go well. Dean loves too deeply for most people to withstand, but Castiel is not most people. He and Dean have been through so much together, Castiel cannot think of anything that he and Dean can't do, if they both put their minds to it.

"I can't do this, I'm sorry. I can't, Cas. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I'm gonna fuck up,  and then you'll hate me, and then... I can't handle what happens then."

Castiel buries his disappointment, but what Dean needs now is comfort, not a sexual frenzy. He needs to know that Castiel will stay despite Dean's reservations. Will always stay, if he has the choice. He disentangles Dean's hand from the back of his shirt.

Castiel slides up the bed, propping himself up against the headboard with two of dean's pillows. "Come here." He says, as gently as he can.

Dean's eyes flick up to Castiel's face, then down to his lap, where he is twisting a piece of blanket in his hands. "We can-- I mean, if you still want--."

"I can wait. You will not fuck up, Dean, and I am willing to take the time to make you sure of it. Now that we understand each other, we are going to take it slow, and I will not allow you to shut me out. Are we clear?"

Some of the tension goes out of Dean in a huff. He runs a hand back over his head. "Yeah, crystal. And slow is-- slow is good."

"Good. Now, I was injured today, and am, as you say, hopped up on painkillers. I would like to go to sleep."

Dean's smile loosens the last of the tension in his shoulders. "Oh yeah?"

"Yes, and since it's your bed, you must also sleep."

Dean shrugs and makes a sturgeon face conceding the point. He crawls tentatively to Castiel, despite how closely they were pressed together a moment ago. It takes a few moments of arranging, but they finally end up in a comfortable position, with Castiel's head resting in the hollow of Dean's shoulder.

Dean's solid bulk beside him is warm and soft, his breathing settling back down into a normal rate. Castiel likes the noise Dean's heart is making in his ear, rhythmic, like waves crashing on a beach. Dean's hand drifts gently over Castiel's injured shoulder. "Shoulder hurt?"

"Not particularly. I imagine it'll be sore tomorrow."

"Yeah, probably. Sam knows a couple of stretches. They hurt like a bitch, once all the muscles tighten up."

Castiel isn't particularly interested in talking about Sam right now, not with Dean so close. Dean's smell in his nostrils is intoxicating, if subtle, old gun oil, leather and smoke.

"Mmm."

Castiel feels more than sees Dean smile, his fingers finding their way into Castiel's hair. They move randomly, but softly, and Castiel begins to have trouble keeping his eyes open. 

"Cas,  this-- I--"

Castiel can tell that Dean its working himself up to another self-degrading statement, and wants to end that habit as soon as possible. "Shhh. I'm tired."

"Hmm. Alright. I think you're nuts, for the record." 

Castiel doesn't dignify that with a response, only slides closer, fitting himself to Dean as closely as possible.

The quiet rhythm of Dean's heart in his ear, and their combined breathing is so soothing that Castiel is nearly asleep when Dean speaks again.

"Hey, you never got your snack. If you want, I can--"

Castiel only burrows his nose into the hollow of Dean's throat, and tightens his grip. "Mmm. I got something better."

"You think?" Dean asks, skeptical.

"I know." He mumbles into Dean's chest, and drops off.

 

 


End file.
